So a drunk girl and a German walk into a bar…

Ok, I’m ready to talk about having a drink with actors, mostly because I need to make a public apology. I know I said that I’d had a martini, yeah, that’s because I have no idea what the plural for martini is.

Last week while in New York, Volker and I met up with our friend Jenny at Carmine’s to eat dinner. I told the bartender that I’d never had a proper martini.

Bartender: Gin or vodka?

Me: Vodka (duh) and olives. I really like olives. I’ll be just like James Bond.

Bartender: James Bond drinks gin.

Me: What an asshole! Damn Brits.

The bartender thought that was hilarious (easy crowd) so he gave me another one.

Note: I have nothing against British people. I love the British – Mark Darcy, Doctor Who, Harry Potter, tea, the cool accent…too many things to list. Long live the Queen.

Another note: Volker just informed me that the famous James Bond martini was vodka, shaken not stirred. Just as I thought! Although, I wasn’t going to challenge an NYC bartender who was giving me drinks.

Jenny invites a friend who’s an actor to meet us after his play lets out. After dinner, we all go to a bar where a sort of after party gathering is happening only it’s quiet conversation among six or so people who all star in this play along side Tom Hanks.

Tom wasn’t there.

I was full on drunk, y’all. I haven’t been much beyond a buzz in years, decades even. Funny thing is I don’t remember feeling drunk. Like, at all. You know, when you’ve had a few too many, your mind is all “be cool, don’t act like an ass” but that doesn’t work because you’re plastered. Yeah, my mind was blissfully unaware of any inebriation and therefore not giving me any cues to calm the shit down. I only have random snippets of memory most of which involve someone looking at me with that ‘What the hell?” kind of squinty look. It’s possible that their faces looked like that because their ears hurt. My volume level tends to increase with excitement level and the combination of famous people, vodka, and being out amongst adults sent me way over the edge.

By the way, a martini at Carmine’s is “the size of a boat”. One of the actors inexplicably announced that to the table during one of my many awesome anecdotes.

Here are a few excerpts that I vaguely remember. All said while screaming – probably: (I’ve added comments from sober Julie to help clarify things.)

Regarding the doggie bag: There’s a whole cow in that bag. (No, there wasn’t.) Really, a whole cow. That’s what they serve at Carmine’s, whole animals. (They don’t.) It’s insane. Who would want to eat a whole cow? (Probably, no one.) Oh, I’m not complaining. (I was complaining.) It’s just that the entrees at Carmine’s are really big. (That’s actually true. They’re gigantic.)

I’m not an actor but I play one on TV. (One guy thought this was funny and I told him he could use it anytime. He said he would. Not likely.)

Once, my daughter and my niece were on the subway and somehow they didn’t exit the subway when we did and they went to Harlem. It was fine. (No shit.) Harlem looked exactly like the rest of New York. (It is New York, dumbass.) I don’t understand all the hubbub. (I watch way too much Law and Order. In all fairness, someone else brought up Harlem and this was my only Harlem anecdote.)

Ask Tom Hanks if he has that game from Big in his house. (Really? Big. Not Philadelphia or Saving Private Ryan or Forest Gump.) No, not the piano, the creepy wizard one. If I were Tom Hanks, I’d have a creepy wizard game in my house. Imagine the power. (This was my ‘if you had one question for Tom Hanks’ response, people. Holy fuckshit.) What do you mean, it’s not a real game? He could have one made. He’s Tom Hanks. (I have nothing I can add to this to make it less horrifying.)

You’re German? (I have no idea how this came up. I may have randomly blurted it out.) Do you speak German? Volker! Speak some German to him! (Volker actually shot some German across the table. Oh, sorry, he didn’t actually shoot a German. He shot German words out of his mouth. I’m glad I explained that. No Germans were physically harmed during the making of this humiliation.) Volker is like really German. Like he lived there until he was 30. As a German. (Yeah, I think they got it. Most of them have played detectives on TV.)

That’s what I remember. I’ve asked Volker and Jenny to never fill in the blanks. No matter how many questions I have, never answer any of them. I already know too much.

I won’t be mentioning any of this to Mr. Hanks. When I meet him. Which could totally happen. After all, I met Shooter McGavin and I didn’t say, “You eat shit for breakfast?” So, anything is possible.

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About Julie

I’m the chick. The handsome guy is my husband, Volker. I was raised in a tiny town exploring creek beds and fishing holes in Northeast Oklahoma. He was raised in a large metro area in Germany exploring museums and all of Europe. It’s almost the same. Ten years ago he loaded up the truck and moved to Bentonville; Arkansas, that is, swimming pools and Wal-Mart. Read More